


601(a): Unsportsmanlike Conduct

by perpetuallyundone



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Checking Practice, Hand Jobs, M/M, and a delay of game for adjustment of clothing, canon divergent needless to say, this probably counts as a personal foul for holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 14:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetuallyundone/pseuds/perpetuallyundone
Summary: Checking practices are Bitty's worst fear... until they're not.





	601(a): Unsportsmanlike Conduct

**Author's Note:**

> another prompt from the omgcp dreadwidth kink meme: "Jack/Bitty, freshman year. A checking clinic which leads to other things."  
> 1) let's pretend they weren't wearing cups because they weren't doing a full practice.  
> 2) thought it was a stretch for bitty or jack to have lube in their bags/stalls, so handjobs it is.  
> 3) I see Jack as demi far too strongly for there to not have been any context leading up to them kissing. thus the 7K.

Bitty was fairly sure he was going to lose his mind. It was the eighth day of his checking practices with Jack and he hadn’t quite managed to adjust his sleep cycle to the earlier hours yet, leaving him much less rested than he would have liked to be in order to deal with Jack Zimmermann at 4 o’clock in the morning. He tried to convince himself that it was the tiredness aching behind his eyes as he rolled out of bed, the leaden dullness the schedule had left in his limbs as he gathered his things and left his dorm for the morning were what was making him irritable, and not the fact that he would be meeting with Jack.

Jack gosh darn Zimmermann who was helping him in his spare time. Jack, who had a good seven inches and seventy-five pounds on him, and about whom Bitty had a steadily growing mental list of reasons to hate. Jack, who had quickly realized he needed to downgrade from wearing full gear to workout clothes while Bitty bulked up to wearing his full gear, and the contrast between the two of them had become even more blatant and, more than anything, embarrassing. They looked even more like student and instructor. Expert and novice. Professional and amateur. Bitty’s attempts to convince himself that the only difference between them was a matter of Jack’s previous two years with the team were hugely unsuccessful.

Bitty reminded himself on the walk to Faber that this was going to make things better, in the long run, and that Jack had good intentions - he wasn’t doing this to make Bitty feel as embarrassed as he did every time he crumpled to the ice. But when there were tracks down his cheeks and Jack’s skates were the only part of him in Bitty’s field of vision, it was hard to not feel resentful, like this result was on purpose, some penance for all the times he’d disrupted practices. Bitty wasn’t stupid, he’d seen Jack skate off to talk to the coaches as he shuffled off to lay on the bench and stare at the roof as the sounds of practice echoed around Faber, the boards between him and team feeling more significant than they had any right to. He knew the comments about his diet and his sleep schedule weren’t because Jack was particularly concerned about his well-being. And he definitely hadn’t so much as glanced at the hulking 130-page pile of paper Jack had handed him, printed double-sided and stapled at one of the library’s computer labs, that read ‘CHECKING THE RIGHT WAY FOR YOUTH HOCKEY: A Coaching Clinic Curriculum for Five Instructional Lessons.’ It was, however, serving as a very effective door prop when Bitty left his dorm room to use the bathroom down the hall. 

“Good morning, Bittle,” Jack said from center ice when Bitty stepped out from the bench, the very obvious lack of stick in his gloved hands an unnerving reminder that this wasn’t a regular practice. He knew Jack wasn’t there to hurt him, unlike many of the teams they’d be playing against (and the one they already had), but being alone in Faber with Jack still felt like a death sentence. Well… maybe not death. Just unpleasantness. Awkwardness. Hours and hours of it. Bitty had half a mind to turn around and retreat back into the quiet stillness of the empty locker room where he’d dressed. Maybe he could convince Jack visualization exercises were the best way to go to start the week.

“It certainly is morning, yes,” Bitty agreed, pushing off to take a lap around the rink, the glassy smoothness of the clean ice and the scrape of his skates against it soothing and nostalgic of his practices with Katya. The training regimen had been grueling, but he’d still take calisthenics over what he knew would come once he’d finished warming up his legs. “What time are we finishing?” More often than not they’d been finishing in time for Jack to get to his first classes; Bitty’s never started before nine. Jack had taken up a smaller circuit, a path a few feet in from Bitty’s and a few strides behind, but he wasn’t far enough away for Bitty to miss the chuckle. 

“Seven,” Jack replied. “Stop thinking about the end before we’ve even started. You need to be present, or we might as well not do this at all.” And that was the end of their conversation until Jack slowed and Bitty took the cue reluctantly, letting himself glide slowly to a stop next to the edge of the rink a few feet ahead with a sigh. 

“Main points we covered last time?” Jack wasn’t one to waste breath, but Bitty still wished he made it even slightly easier to want to talk to him about anything. He couldn’t tell if it was because Jack wasn’t a morning person, or if it was because Bitty’s existence annoyed him to the point of brevity. 

“Feet wide, chest up, head up,” Bitty recited dully, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest as he looked out at the stands. He heard Jack’s skates shuffling back and forth as he stood in place. They’d moved from Bitty standing in place against the boards to Jack doing some semblance of a slow, moving approach to catch up as Bitty moved even more slowly. Yesterday had felt like two steps back, the incorporation of the movement throwing Bitty’s reaction and reducing it back to his panicked instincts. “Get myself to the wall before the hit, keep square, skate through it. You know, this would be a lot better if we could play music while we were doin’ it.” 

Jack shook his head and pushed a few strides away to give himself room to ‘catch’ Bitty before the check. “No music. The In Sync Direction Boys will have to wait until after. Get ready.” 

Bitty laughed until Jack’s body collided with his own.

_/ ˍ \\_

It got easier as time went on. Bitty finally managed to start going to bed earlier, so waking up felt more like an annoyance than an impossibility. He was crying less during the checking practices, his reaction dulling down to trembling legs and a racing heart that only occasionally resulted with him locked up rigidly on the ice, even if the frantic urge to duck or try to escape before the hit could land still remained. 

But the progress he had made was undeniable - even Jack had said so, and Bitty had held onto that compliment like a baby bird throughout the day between morning sessions and team practices, cupped in his hands and cradled to his chest, occasionally peeking in between his fingers to reassure himself that it was still there, still real. The times when he was successful played on repeat in his head when he finally climbed into bed to sleep, the success that coursed through him, making him light, Jack’s approving nods and half-smiles and the feeling of accomplishment as they stepped off the ice together good enough to keep him going when his alarm went off in the morning. The dread that usually set in when Faber appeared around the corner on their morning walks to the rink - shoulder to shoulder as Jack occasionally commented on the weather or a bird flying over the river and Bitty pined for a coffee - had lessened to discomfort, rather than feeling as though the floor was falling out from under him. 

“Breakfast today?” Bitty asked as he finished strapping on an elbow pad, glancing up and catching the tail end of Jack hooking the back of a sock into the strap of a garter, the way his body was twisted putting Jack’s… assets on display. Bitty glanced away quickly - he knew better than to look. He knew a lot better than to look when he was the only other person in the locker room, never mind when the person he was looking at was his captain, and it was this captain whose body would be ramming into Bitty repeatedly for the next two hours. Which was supposed to be the opposite of enjoyable. And for the most part, had been. But Bitty knew the guise of presumed straightness would only buy him so much leeway, and he was perpetually worried that excuse was starting to wear thin. The team had been welcoming enough, but in Bitty’s experience locker rooms were never safe when you were the smallest and gayest person in them. 

“Sure,” Jack said, hands deft and practiced as he laced his shorts and moved to put his shoulder pads on. Bitty exhaled, busying himself with tugging his jersey on and turning to face his locker to keep his eyes from wandering. “I’m fine with ending a little early. Someone has to make sure you’re eating enough protein when you’re not at team breakfasts, eh?” Jack sounded so pleased with himself at the chirp, chuckling, and Bitty rolled his eyes, able to imagine Jack’s expression without even turning around.

“Hardy har har. Definitely don’t give up your day job, Jack, I’m afraid being a comedian just isn’t in the cards for you,” he monotoned, grabbing up his gloves and his helmet and walking out to the hallway to stand in front of the stick rack. This would be the first day they actually incorporated one, with Bitty receiving a pass from Jack that he was supposed to move down the wall, then bracing for the check and either keeping control of the puck or passing it off. The uneasiness that came at the start of every practice with Jack distracted him, and it was only Jack reaching in front of him to grab his own stick that brought Bitty out of the fear and preoccupation in his head. He glanced up at Jack, who was giving him a curious look, his brows raised over bright eyes. “You still with me?” Bitty grabbed his stick. 

“Yes, yes,” Bitty muttered, “just, you know… mentally bracing myself to be smashed into a pulp. The usual.” Following Jack out to the ice, he desperately tried to not let the impressiveness of Jack’s silhouette in the tunnel distract him. He’d seen it every home game so far, so why did seem so much… _more_ in the mornings like this? Bitty blamed it on the way the ice was lit up with the sunrise from the windows, so different from the darkness they’d walked out to as the announcer’s voice had boomed around the arena. “You reconsidered about the music yet?” he called, striding out onto the ice and accelerating for a moment to catch up to Jack as they circled the rink for a warm up. 

“Nope.” Jack didn’t sound even the slightest bit like he’d considered it since the last time Bitty had brought it up, slyly working it into conversation as he’d set a plate of whole wheat scones on the table in front of him. Jack had eaten two and talked about the flaws in 2014 US Olympic team’s defense the entire time. “I’ve seen you with your headphones in before games, Bittle, we’d never get anything done because you’d be dancing on the ice the entire time.” 

Bitty was quiet for a moment. “Oh, well, excuse me, I must be in the wrong place,” he said in his most polite voice, his accent swinging the words, before speeding up to pass Jack and then turning around, skating backwards in front of him. The crossover of his legs was smooth as they went around the corners and back out onto the long straight stretch. “I was under the impression this was a checking practice, not a chirping practice. I must be in the wrong place.” He turned around with a little hop and took off, gathering speed before indulging himself in a jump - simple, yes, since that was all his skates would allow for, but still satisfying, especially since Jack didn’t chastise him for wasting time. 

But it had only delayed the inevitable, and soon they were taking positions, Bitty near the boards at the blue line and Jack out closer to center ice. Bitty tried not to think about how his hands were numb with nerves as Jack called to ask if he was ready, then sent the puck at him, pushing off quickly to chase him down. Bitty felt panic grip his chest as he took the pass, fumbling it a little as his mind shrieked at him that Jack was going to collide with him, forcing his attention away from the puck. 

“Head up, Bittle-!” was the last thing Bitty heard before Jack hit him, the weight and speed of him shoving Bitty hard and quick into the boards, Bitty’s elbows pressing into his own sides as he was pinned between Jack and the glass. But as quickly as it had happened, it was done - the muscle memory had kicked in, and Bitty had pushed forward through the check, coming out the other side unscathed, if a bit rattled. But the pride when he realized what he’d done was instantaneous, a breathless, incredulous grin on his face. The puck, however, had skittered a few feet away as Bitty had lost his focus on it, and Jack had leveraged against Bitty to move to retrieve it. Jack’s quickness had allowed him to surge forward and claim control, already facing Bitty and ready to take advantage of what would be a turnover. 

“Half’s not bad,” Jack said, the words softening the blow even if his tone didn’t, and Bitty felt himself shrink under his gaze, mouth a tight line, the accomplishment souring in his stomach. Of course Jack would only give him half credit, emphasize the failure. “But we can’t afford a turnover every time you get checked.”

“I know that.” Bitty’s voice had enough of an edge that Jack raised his eyebrows at him, but the challenge was silent and dissolved when Bitty looked away and rapped his stick on the ice a few times in frustration, his heart still racing with the ‘flight’ reaction his body had summoned up at the inevitable collision. He wished the feeling of accomplishment could have stayed for just a little longer before Jack had shot a hole through it, even if it was something Bitty already knew. “Again.” 

They reset. 

Turnover. 

Reset. 

Turnover. 

Reset.

It took them fifteen more tries. Bitty counted each one, laborious and exhausting, more mentally than anything else, and Jack’s full weight against him, practically lifting him off his feet at times, became a significant distraction. One that was only compounded by the way Bitty could feel his arms and hands through his gear, Jack’s voice right next to his ear as he offered reminders and critiques. 

Fifteen more tries, and on the sixteenth Bitty made a pass in the split second before their bodies crashed together. It took Jack an extra second to push away. Bitty opened his eyes, not even having realized he’d closed them, to see half a smile on Jack’s face; and what a sight _that_ was- the pride, the hint of surprise that probably should have made Bitty indignant, but mostly just made a bubble of laughter burst out of him, helpless and giddy. His heart was pounding hard enough that he was panting a little, but he was grinning as he slumped against the wall and dropped his head back to smile at the ceiling, accomplishment coursing through his body like a supercharged adrenaline. 

“Good,” Jack said, and the clap to Bitty’s upper arm felt like a golden comradery, and the same kind of feeling that he got when the team slid into each other on the ice to grasp one another and bump their facemasks together filled him up. He’d never gotten that from Jack, the cold spot that had been his presence on the ice thawing for him, just a little, hesitantly, with the touch. Bitty looked at him, still smiling, and was surprised that he got one in return. 

“Right?” Bitty replied, half-laughing with relief that this was possible, that all of this work hadn’t been for nothing. This was definitive progress. But once wasn’t surety, and it was an isolated incident, so they went back to work, the shadows cast from the large windows inching steadily across the ice unnoticed. The glare of the light went unnoticed as they worked over another two hours. It didn’t get much easier, but Bitty’s confidence grew, opening the door to chirping Jack more regularly, glad that it didn’t come with a retaliation of a harder check, but rather chirps about Bitty’s interchangeable use of ‘gosh darnit’ and ‘shit,’ along with eyerolls and tempered shoves that sent Bitty sideways on the ice for a foot or two. 

Getting a pass off got more consistent, and by the time the alarm on Jack’s watch went off Bitty was glowing - sweaty, and breathless, and exhausted, but glowing. 

“You’re running me ragged here, Bittle,” Jack complained, and somehow it had become true, Bitty urging them into resets faster than Jack did. Jack swept his bangs back from his face and took Bitty’s stick from him so Bitty could take his gloves and helmet off. “I’ve earned a tow.” 

Bitty mouth twisted into disbelief. “’scuse me?” 

“You heard me. I’ve been doing three times the distance you have. We’re finishing with endurance training.” He glided over, eyes alight and the slightest bit challenging, as if goading Bitty into resisting, and slid to a stop behind Bitty, and Bitty felt his jersey tighten as Jack grabbed two fistfuls of it in the back. “Mush.” 

Bitty scoffed his protest but pushed off anyway, Jack’s dead weight behind him slowing him significantly. Bitty huffed and panted, already tired limbs protesting the addition of the extra mass with each stride.

“Lord, you’re heavy,” he complained, having worked up some speed by the time they were halfway across the rink. “Is this how hard you hafta work to get all’uh /that/ movin’ every time you skate?” He heard a bark of laughter behind him. 

“All of what, exactly?” 

“All of that, um-… oh, never mind,” Bitty griped. By the time they were nearing the boards again, something inside him felt brazen enough to try to enact some sort of revenge, and he turned hard just before hitting the glass, intending to send Jack into the wall as his momentum carried him forward. But Jack’s skates were too sure, and his grip was too strong, and he barely bounced into the wall at all, an awkward mishap rather than a crash, and his laugh boomed around the empty arena as Bitty hung his head with a sigh. He felt himself slide backwards a bit as Jack tugged on his jersey as he regained his bearings, the shuffle of movement ending with Jack swinging around, guiding Bitty to face the boards himself. Jack was still behind him, still an arm’s length apart.

“What was that?” 

“What was what?” Feigned innocence was clearly getting him nowhere, as Jack’s voice brimming over with laughter when he responded. 

“You know what, Bittle.” Jack’s hands released the jersey as Bitty turned around in the small space between them, looking up at Jack with an almost comedically determined expression, mouth twitching despite the way it was turned down in a grim line.

“Nothin’!” he said defensively, but the smile was giving him away. “I was jus’, y’know, testing your reaction time! Very important in hockey, you know.” He nodded sagely, a chuckle coming out shuddery as he tried to fight it off. But Jack’s smile made it impossible not to want to laugh at how ridiculous his plan had been. 

“My reaction time is just fine, thanks,” Jack scoffed, and Bitty felt trapped under his gaze, fixated on the way Jack’s tongue wet his lips as he shook his head, a little incredulous but clearly amused. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he pushed off to the side before he said it, leaving Bitty to trail after him through the gate and down the tunnel to the locker room. 

_/ ˍ \\_

Bitty knew he’d never actually _enjoy_ checking practices, but he found himself not filled with quite as much trepidation when he lay down at night knowing it would be the first thing he did in the morning. And the thoughts about the practices weren’t always bad anymore, and the thoughts about Jack… sometimes those weren’t bad either. Sometimes they went as far as being good. Quite good. Good enough that he felt a burning shame in his cheeks when they dressed in the locker room together, Bitty meting out guilty glances at Jack from a few lockers away, or when Jack stopped to talk to one of the tennis players on the way back to their table in the dining hall. 

The clinics were getting shorter, and at some point along the way Jack started finding time to stop and get them coffee, handed over quietly between them with muttered ‘G’morning’s and ‘Thank you’s, Bitty stifling the fluttering in his chest and the tingling in his palms every time his fingers brushed Jack’s, or their arms bumped against each other as they walked. The drills changed, too, expecting more and more of Bitty as his comfort level and learning edge expanded. They developed an unspoken understanding of when Jack needed to push and when he needed to leave it for Bitty to do himself. 

They came across the latter when a hard check from Jack sent Bitty to the ice for the fourth time that day, his arms curled around his head in a way they hadn’t been in the better part of two weeks. 

“Bittle, come on.” Jack’s tone was exasperated, and Bitty could hear the annoyance in it, and it left tracks in its wake as the words worked their way through Bitty’s chest. He was _trying_. There hadn’t ever been a moment here with Jack when he hadn’t been. Didn’t he see that? Or was he too caught up in his own magnanimity for helping a less skilled person that he couldn’t? Bitty grit his teeth so hard his jaw hurt as he glared at the ice, willing Jack into silence with his own. “You’re past this. Be better.” 

“I am!” Bitty snapped as he pushed himself to his feet, gathering himself up to look at Jack. He hadn’t spoken back to him like this, without humor to soften it, for a month, and the risk of it trilled in his veins, his heart pounding in his ears. “I am past this! And I am better! I’m- just because- just because I’m half a step backwards today don’t mean you should ignore the- the five steps I’ve taken forwards!” 

The tilt of Jack’s head would have seemed dangerous if Bitty didn’t know it was something he did when he was thinking, adjusting, processing information in that calculating, analytical way that had earned Jack words like ‘ruthless’ and ‘singularly focused.’ “You’re right,” he finally said, and Bitty exhaled shakily. “But you’ve been distracted today. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” came the immediate reply. Bitty picked at a seam on his glove, the thick padding over his fingers making the gesture clumsy and pointless. “Nothin’s goin’ on.” 

“Is it girl trouble?” 

Bitty scoffed, shaking his head with a wry twist to his mouth. 

“Boy trouble?” 

And that sent a cold spike straight through him. He shook his head jerkily, and it felt like the silence stretched on infinitely, huge and stifling and frozen in the cold of the arena. Faber had never felt so big, so empty.

“No.” Sometimes Bitty wished Jack’s friendship with Shitty had granted him some of Shitty’s loquaciousness. “There ain’t nobody to be distracted by. About. Whatever.” 

He could feel Jack’s gaze burning a hole in his helmet, through his skull, directly into his brain. When Bitty lifted his eyes to meet Jack’s, the other man’s expression wasn’t as cold as he’d expected it to be. 

“Okay. Well, if you ever need someone to talk to…” Bitty nodded, but just the once. “Or, y’know, Shits is a pretty good listener, if you, euh. Him.” 

“Thank you.” 

Bitty got his bearings after that, his efforts to focus redoubled, and it made no small amount of difference when he imagined that the person smashing into him was an opponent and not Jack, that the breath that scattering over his neck and shoulder wasn’t Jack’s, that the grins and the chirps that his successes earned weren’t Jack’s. They fell into a rhythm of pass-check-push through, protect the puck and work Jack’s defense, the sounds of frustration and chirping and laughter echoing around the rink as they worked. He was never able to get past Jack’s defense, though, the long reach and wide stance infuriating on every turn, every attempt to go around or through. At one point, Jack tired so much of Bitty’s avoidance tactics and delay that he closed in on him, and in his confusion Bitty let him get close enough that Jack wrapped his arms around him and lifted him clean off the ice, Bitty’s arms pinned to his sides, stick out at an odd angle as he squawked his protest. 

“Illegal!” he cried as Jack laughed, skating over to kick at the abandoned puck with his skate, shuffling it towards the wall near the gate. “This move is illegal! I get a penalty shot!” Eventually Jack set him down, and they were close enough that when Bitty looked up at him he could see the fine lines of his lips, the way his lashes were lighter at the tips, the ruddiness of his cheeks in tiny, charming splotches. It took him a long moment to realize Jack’s hands were still on his waist when they should have long ago fallen away, and Bitty’s heart was pounding in his temples, his ears, echoing around his head inside his helmet. 

“No shot on goal, so no penalty shot,” Jack muttered. “You know that, Bits.” Bitty didn’t dare to look away from Jack’s face when he felt his hands fall, nervous that whatever tenuous thing was held between them would shatter and disappear forever. 

“Unsportsmanlike conduct, then,” he mumbled. “Holding.” Then he felt a tug at the strap of his helmet, and Bitty brought his own hands up to take it off, not quite daring to believe he was removing it for the reason he immediately thought he might be. Then Jack was shifting closer, Bitty so intent on him that forgot he was holding the helmet between them, the infinite slowness of the moment suspended between them just as concretely. Bitty was motionless, eyes wide, and he caught the way Jack’s eyes dropped to his lips before the distance between them was gone. 

Jack’s mouth was warm, and soft, and sweet against his, and neither of them barely dared to move as they kissed, lingering in the frozen moment that felt twice, three times, four times as long as it could have possibly been, the contrast so striking between the wild rabbit-quick beat of Bitty’s stunned heart and the minutiae of the movement of their lips together. Jack’s fingers lined Bitty’s jaw and Bitty’s gloved hands found Jack’s chest and his waist, tentative, almost wishful. Their lips made a small sound when they parted and Bitty was sure he was dreaming when he opened his eyes to see Jack’s head ducked, looking between them as he tugged the gloves from Bitty’s hands with a gentle kind of urgency. Relief poured through him when Jack’s hands returned to his skin, cradling his face as he brought their mouths together again sweetly but with more confidence, the surety of them together giving Bitty the bravery to slide a hand around Jack’s neck, the slightest pressure pulling him down into him. 

But Jack’s reaction was more, so much more, and he pressed them together until Bitty’s back was against boards, the arm Jack had snaked around the small of Bitty’s back tugging as his chest pressed, his head tilting as he kissed Bitty more deeply, stealing any chance Bitty might have had at keeping his breath. It came out in an embarrassing rush over Jack’s lips, but he seemed more encouraged than dissuaded, taking advantage of the parting of Bitty’s lips to catch one between his own, and the pressure he sucked with sparked a tingle that slipped down Bitty’s spine and had his fingers tightening at the nape of Jack’s neck. 

He didn’t know how long they kissed for, only that when they parted his lips were tingling and swollen from the attention of lips and teeth, that Jack’s skin was hot where his fingers dragged down the side of his neck and down his throat, that the feel of his jersey under his hand was unsatisfying and rough. 

“Well that’s, um-” he managed once his voice had returned, breathless and spoken past his own fingers where they were gently touching his lips, exploratory and curious. Jack was looking at him in a quietly intense way that made Bitty feel pinned, caught between Jack and the wall behind him in an entirely different way than they’d been dealing with so far that morning.

“Okay?” Jack supplied, sounding the most scared kind of hopeful Bitty had ever heard. “I- I should’ve asked, it was-”

“ _Oh_ , oh no, Lord, of course!” Bitty insisted, the words all out in a rush as he pressed both hands to Jack’s chest, breathless with laughter and disbelief. “Oh, God, of course it’s okay, you ridiculous-” He tugged Jack back in by the jersey in lieu of finishing his statement, pressing a reassurance to Jack’s mouth with a flirting drag of his tongue over Jack’s lower lip. The leg that pressed between his own in response left a shockwave of want echoing through Bitty’s body so intense he trembled with it, chest heaving under his pads as his mouth lost its finesse. Their lips moved together, more slick, more insistent, more needing, heads tipped further to the sides as Jack’s tongue swept hot and sudden against Bitty’s own; suddenly a sinuous swirl around Bitty’s tongue had him sucking instinctually and aware of all the layers between them, the steady pressure of Jack’s thigh at the v of his legs. When he dropped his head back against the glass, he missed the silent, measuring look Jack gave him before he leaned in and pressed the hot wet of his mouth to Bitty’s neck to suck salt from the beat of his pulse. Bitty whined and clapped his hand over his eyes as he tried to pretend his hips hadn’t jerked forwards into the broad muscle of Jack’s thigh, made thicker by the padding of his shorts. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know if he should pretend he wasn’t ridiculously turned on, if he should pretend that he didn’t want to kiss Jack until he felt like he was drowning in him, rut against him until the tight, knotted heat low in his belly relented. He doubted it would take very long at all with Jack’s face buried in his neck, if Jack moved his hips a little in time…

He opened his eyes when he felt the warmth of Jack’s breath move away, his fingers a little clumsy as he brushed them over the sharp angle of Jack’s jaw, the blooming pinkness of his lips, swollen and wet, fascinated by the shine of them. His cock twitched, the compression pants under his shorts doing little to hinder the way he filling, and he rolled his hips into Jack’s leg hesitantly, gauging, _‘I want if you want.’_ “Jack…” 

The sound Jack made in response resonated in Bitty’s chest so completely he couldn’t help but make one in return, pressing up to fit their lips together and pouring a whimper into Jack’s mouth as he rocked into him, almost delirious with the fact that Jack pressed back, his hips hitching forwards into one of Bitty’s legs. Hiking up Jack’s jersey with his hands felt like the bravest thing he’d ever done, and the reward of Jack’s skin under his fingers felt like it justified the momentary fear a thousand times over. He must have said something embarrassing because Jack was chuckling into his mouth as he swept a hand through his hair at the side of Bitty’s head. 

“Can I?” 

Bitty was nodding, encouragement falling from his mouth, eager and wholly on board before he even realized that Jack’s hand was on the fastener of his shorts, and he craned up, kissing Jack to distraction as he vaguely felt him tugging at the belt and loosening the laces until he could get his hand between them and Bitty’s body. And oh, _oh_ that pressure of the heel of Jack’s hand against the base of his cock was so much better than it had any right to be, and it took every ounce of self-restraint Bitty had left not to just rock into the touch, to push himself, needy and desperate, into the delicious rhythm of the circles Jack was palming into him. He choked back a whine as Jack worked his hand under the skin-tight pants, head lolling to the side against the plexiglass before he realized abruptly that Jack’s mouth was nowhere to be found. 

When he opened his eyes, it was to Jack staring down at him, his lips parted and his gaze intense. 

“What?” Bitty felt heat bloom distinctly through his cheeks, more acute than the flushed warm the kissing and touching had inspired. Maybe it was embarrassing, how into this he was. It was alright for him to be hard like this, wasn’t it? 

“Nothing,” Jack said instantly, and Bitty felt like he could die with how low Jack’s voice was, how roughened out, the look in his eyes intense and wanting. Bitty squirmed under it, tugging at the front of Jack’s shorts to pull him closer as he rolled his hips forwards, eyes fluttering at the way it pushed his cock through Jack’s fingers. It was a tight fit between them, Jack’s knuckles brushing Bitty’s stomach as he fisted over his cock in languid pumps. He pushed Jack’s jersey up far enough that Jack just took it off, and if there had been a way for Bitty to get him out of his pads with a quickness, he would have done it. But he contented himself with the sight of the straps straining on Jack’s biceps, his bare stomach and the cut of his hips as they disappeared into the padded shorts, looking - really looking, and lingering - without any guilt for the first time. A swipe of Jack’s thumb over the head of his cock opened Bitty’s mouth on a moan, and Jack took the opportunity to catch Bitty’s hand and press it haphazardly to the undone laces of his own shorts. 

Bitty never could have imagined how sweet his name sounded when Jack breathed it against his lips as Bitty wrapped his fingers around Jack’s cock, the skin hot and velvet soft. He dragged his fingers along it slowly, awing in the weight of it as Jack’s sounds got breathier and so, so much prettier until they were just whispers blossoming from his open mouth as Bitty’s fingers swept around the head, thick and smooth. He wondered briefly what it would feel like against his tongue, between his lips. Bitty’s eyes were wide as he looked up between them when Jack pressed their foreheads together. 

“Yes,” finally emerged when Bitty picked up a rhythm, fingers a tight circle around the thickness of him similar to the way Bitty touched himself, which was all he could say he had any experience with. Jack matched it with his own hand, as grip strong and sure and Bitty felt so tightly wound a word could have set him off like a spring. “Christ, Bits, yes, just-” Jack’s breath hitched, and the absence of sound had never been so beautiful. “-like that.” Jack’s hand disappeared, only to return slick a second later, and Bitty nearly crumpled, skates slipping, kept up by the push of Jack’s thigh still between his legs. 

“ _Oh_ \- oh my God, yes, Jack, please just-” He way Jack pressed into him as they kissed felt so… so surrounding, and he felt covered by Jack, the broadness of his shoulders and the pressure of his hips. Bitty clutched at Jack’s waist, hand losing a little of its finesse as he licked past Jack’s lips, searching for another sound and rewarded with a hard twitch of Jack’s cock in his hand. He’d gotten off with his own hand a thousand times, but the feel of Jack’s hand was infinitely better, different in a hundred minute ways aside from the glaring difference of being attached to the most attractive person Bitty had ever seen in person. Attractive and funny and talented and singularly focused, yes, but Bitty knew he was thoughtful, in his own secret sort of way that meant stopping for coffee or getting Bitty the last chocolate muffin in the dining hall and putting it on his plate with a chirp.

Soon Bitty was working his hips in time with Jack’s hand, little hitches as Jack fisted over him and panted against the hinge of Bitty’s jaw when he wasn’t kissing at it. It seemed that Jack took every sound personally, quickly realizing that a certain twist of his hand dragged out moans from Bitty, and Bitty was starting to tremble apart, the molten, mounting pressure between his hips undeniable. 

“I’m-” His exhale was shaky, chest shuddering, and he wet his lips with his tongue. “Lord, I’m close, I-” Any embarrassment he could have felt was pushed away by Jack’s nod and the rumbling sound Bitty felt against his chest, the insistent push of Jack’s body that pressed them closer together, the air between them hot now, muggy with breath, saturated with the rhythm of their breathing and the wet sounds of skin. Bitty could feel Jack’s eyes on him, intense and too blue to look at directly for longer than a moment before he kissed him desperately. His hands fumbled over the pads on Jack’s shoulders before settling into his hair, gripping tight as Jack’s fingers curled around their cocks and Bitty whined into Jack’s mouth at the heat of Jack’s skin, the too-tight, _perfectly_ tight pressure of it. 

Bitty consciously tried to keep his sounds quiet and sexy as he came, barely holding onto the thought that he didn’t want to embarrass himself the first time he had an orgasm at someone else’s hands - or rather, hand - and he clutched at Jack’s shoulders and neck, fingers scrabbling against his scalp as he spilled over Jack’s fist and up his bare stomach. Somewhere along the way Jack had had the presence of mind to push his jersey up because Lord knew Bitty hadn’t thought about it, too eager to touch the parts of Jack’s skin he could get to, feel the hard planes of his back and stomach. Jack swallowed his sounds as Bitty moaned to whimpers, hips hitching as he arched off the wall. He looked up from between them just in time to see Jack come as well, his mouth opened beautifully, his eyes closed. He was mostly quiet - quick huffs of breath that gave way to longer sighs that synced so nicely with the stuttering of Jack’s hips - but Bitty drank in the sounds, holding onto the sight as tightly as his grip on Jack’s arms. For all his stoic, grim-expressioned handsomeness when he was focused, or his smirking, self-pleased mirth when he was chirping Bitty within an inch of his life, this was a Jack that took Bitty’s breath away in an entirely different way. A more private, intimate way of being that made Bitty’s chest ache with the rareness.

Jack’s fingers curled against Bitty’s upper stomach, flexing around the jersey as he panted and opened his eyes to catch Bitty staring. But Bitty couldn’t look away, and a nervous smile curved his mouth before he bit his lip around a nervous twitter of laughter.

“I’m, uh- I’m pretty sure there’s a joke in there somewhere about penalty shots and, um, other kinds of shots…” he said, and the bright pulse of relief that came with Jack’s laughter at the comment settled deep into his body to sit with the sated tiredness of his muscles and the happy buzz in his veins that had very little to do with his orgasm. Apparently the lameness of his joke earned him a kiss, Jack’s hand framing his chin and slipping to cover his jaw as their lips clung sticky and slow to each other, breath exchanged between panting mouths.

“Hit the showers, Bittle.” Bitty tugged at the pads rising up over Jack’s hips before letting his hands drop away, looking almost petulant. “I’ll see you in there.” Pushing away, Jack moved to pick up the discarded equipment - their sticks and gloves and Bitty’s helmet scattered over the ice - and Bitty headed for the gate. He glanced down at Jack’s jersey, tossed to the floor in their rush, and pulled his off as well, giving Jack a look over his shoulder before letting it drop down in a heap for him to pick up as well. 

_/ ˍ \\_

**Author's Note:**

> if i weren't so burnt out on writing rn I'd probably do a follow up scene of them in the showers - there'd be fingers in places, probably some intercrural, probably some more hockey innuendos. but as it is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
